


Princess

by jaimesselfishmachines



Series: Idiot Boyfriends (head over heels and in denial) [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Begging, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex, Sex Toys, The idiot boyfriends get kinky, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/jaimesselfishmachines
Summary: Pretty Boy decides to play dress up.So what if he's missing the tiara?





	Princess

 

Laurens uses all the energy left in his uncoordinated limbs, to launch himself in Herc’s direction. Hercules spins around just in time to catch the stumbling soldier, with wires in his brain too frayed to prevent him from tripping over his own feet.

“Take it easy, Princess.” Hercules chuckles, looking John in the eye. He can see the desire smoldering behind John’s irises and does his best at holding Laurens at arm's length. He doesn't want this to be rushed. The red fabric in his hands is softly draped over John’s arms, complimenting the deep maroon fabric of the form-fitting bodice. “Wouldn’t want you twisting an ankle.”

Maybe it's foolish to say, but Hercules loves John. And his ankles. And if the soldier’s ankles are twisted, he can't go to work on Monday. To be fair, Hercules is preventing them from having to explain the origins of any injury. Hercules can't help but let his gaze stray downwards in curiosity. Laurens shifts a bit, and Hercules can't help but wonder if it hurts, being four inches off the ground, constantly tiptoeing around. John clearly can't walk in them after a few drinks in him, but the bright red pumps are absolutely perfect when cradling John's surprisingly delicate feet.

It's not his cup of tea, but Hercules can finally grasp the concept of foot fetishes.

John smiles, big and goofy, almost all his teeth visible.

“I love you for this. For lettin’ me do this. For lettin’ me be pretty for you.” He beams so hard, Hercules feels the ache on behalf of his cheeks. The dusty pink flush of John’s face is endearing, tiny freckles dancing across his more-than-tipsy expression. The pale pink lipstick framing John's mouth is almost nude against his skin tone, though the lack of skill is evident in the way it's smudged across John's lips. Hercules smiles fondly. Had he really expected anything different?

 

“You've always been breathtaking, babygirl.” Hercules whispers, overtaken by awe.  
John looks away, blushing so furiously that his face almost matches the dress. Hercules can feel Laurens squirm in his grip, can feel the fabric ruffle in his palm.

John's too cute, toned musculature stretching the fabric around him just enough to tease Herc's imagination. Not that it ever needs much help. Hercules can feel himself start strain in his pants, and whilst he wants nothing more than to fuck his pretty little boyfriend silly, he is content to just watch as John moves. The skirt has been layered, he notes, given more volume with sheets of delicate lace and silk. It must have cost a fortune, but damn is it worth every penny. It gives the appearance of plump hips, and John takes advantage of that, swaying when he walks, with that perfect ass, and… His mind is straying again.

When John had first proposed the idea, Hercules had no idea that he was serious. He assumed John was just interested in his work, and thought nothing of telling him about it: where to get the cloth, how to take measurements, how to ensure he got the right fit…

In hindsight, Hercules should have known John was up to something. His hands uncurl from John's biceps and the soldier wobbles a second before regaining his balance.

 

John's confession is clumsier than his feet, “I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint.”

“You never fail to impress.”

 

The blushing in Laurens’s cheeks returns with a ferocity, adorable South Carolina drawl sneakily tiptoeing behind every word. “Th-thank you, sir.”

Hercules struggles not to take John right then and there. He swallows his arousal to ask: “Sir..?” That's new.

John shuffles forward, lips to Herc's neck in an instant. Hercules bolts upright when John palms at his crotch, warm breath dancing against his neck when the soldier whispers.

“Is there something else you would prefer?”

“Not particularly. But,” Hercules stills John's hand, capturing the wanton wrist in his grasp. “I'd like you to _behave_.”

“Okaaaaay,” John giggles. He knows exactly what he is doing behind that ditzy act, because for all his portrayed cluelessness, he can't quell the fire behind his eyes. “Where's your phone?”

Herc's jaw drops. There's no way Laurens has thought that far. “ _No._ ”

“Oh, _yes_.” John grins. That alone tells Hercules that he is no longer in control of this situation. Hercules grabs his phone from the dining table, unlocking it and sifting through the apps until he finds the notification he's looking for.

“It's inside you right now?” Herc's eyes widen, and he gives the controls an experimental crank. A gasp falls from John's lips and he buckles, the heels providing no aid as he falls to the carpet, his moans accompanied by the soft buzzing sound of the vibrator inside him.

“Yes, sir,” John moans, “wanted to be so good for you.” and his hands fist in the dress as he rocks his hips gently in search of friction.

“Hands behind your back, Princess. Or you’ll wrinkle the fabric.”

John wants to verbally spar, wants to be snarky, wants to mock Hercules for his sartorial instinct, how his boyfriend _can't help_ but think of the garment's tailoring, wants to tell Herc that he doesn’t give a single shit about the dress, but all that stumbles from his mouth is a broken: “Y-yes, sir,” as he ever so obediently changes the position of his hands. This is so much harder when he isn't handcuffed.

 

“Don't you dare move. You get off when I say so.” Hercules growls, turning the knob all the way up.

“Hercules!” John collapses forward, forehead to carpet as he trembles. His hands press into the floor, doing anything to support himself. The vibrations pulse through him, and he's powerless to do anything but tremble and beg. “ _Please…”_

 _“_ Promise you'll behave?”

“ _My god, yes!”_

Hercules runs a hand through John's curls. He glances at his phone, turning the knob down til the screen goes dark. “Good girl.”

“Fuck,” John pants, nuzzling into the hand on his head. It leaves his head all too soon.

“Filthy mouth you have… such a shame for someone so pretty.” Hercules muses. John straightens up, coming to rest on his knees. His eyes flutter open, startled to see Hercules so far across the room, leaning against the dining table. Sees Hercules unzip his fly, shifting out of his jeans until they sink to about mid-thigh. John catches Herc's gaze, sees the tilt of the tailor’s head, how it directs him to the floor. “Come here, babygirl.”

John nods, pressing his hands into the carpet for leverage.

“I didn't say stand.”

John sinks back to his knees.

“I said, _come here._ ” The tailor says, pointing to the spot in front of him. He watches as the realization arrives on John's face, pink lips pursing in embarrassment.

“Herc…”

“Don't make me repeat myself.” Hercules punctuates his command by turning the knob back up, letting it level off somewhere in the mid-range of vibration.

John sighs softly, leans forward as he stretches his arms out in front of him, tentatively following it with his body weight. He crawls forward on his hands and knees, delicate fabric brushing against the back of his thighs. He shifts his hips, tiny moans tearing from his throat as the buzzing thrums against his prostate. His legs quiver, stimulation inescapable, and John bites his lip to stop from moaning, no doubt smudging what's left of the lipstain. He settles in the space between his boyfriend's thighs, glancing up for the next instructions.

John can see Herc's arousal, the tent in his boxers more than obvious.

“Time to do what you do best.”

John nods, raising his body to press gentle kisses to Herc's pudge. His hands go to work, sliding the black boxers down the tailor’s thighs. Herc's dick springs forward, free from the cotton constraints. John stares, enamored with the dick suspended against the flesh of his cheek.

“You need some help?” there's a strong grip in his hair and his hips jolt upwards as Herc turns up the vibration. John's jaw slackens immediately, moaning as he wraps his lips around the leaking head, smearing salty precum over his tongue.

He's a sight to behold, pink lipstick staining his lips and the cock they're wrapped around. The warmth in Herc's voice is to be expected. “That's it. You’re so beautiful.”

John takes more of Herc in his mouth, inch by inch as he feels his underwear tighten; he's impressed even himself with his commitment to obedience. He shivers as the pressure in his cock builds, tempting him to let his hands drift away from Herc's thighs. To bring himself to completion.

No. It's not worth it. If he did anything like that, Hercules would be upset with him. He forces himself to be still, even as he feels himself leaking, waiting for permission to cum.

He lets Herc's cock lay heavy on his tongue. Lets Hercules rock forward, thrust into his throat, grip his head, fingers stealing the hair from his scalp. He shivers in pleasure as he allows Herc to withdraw, wrapping his lips around the cock on his tongue. Hollows his cheeks and doesn't resist when the grip on his hair quickly tightens and Hercules buries himself balls-deep, a babble of affection tumbling from his mouth as John swallows around him.

“That's it, babygirl... So perfect, so so good. Pink lips so pretty. Gorgeous in this dress. On your knees just for me.” Hercules swallows a groan, hands twisting in John's hair as he thrusts into the back of his throat. John gags, but doesn't surrender, not even to the lack of air. “Brilliant mouth… So beautiful when you look at me like that…”

Laurens can hear his own heartbeat, full body blushing as he resumes in rocking his hips. His dick slides delicately against the silk lining of the dress, frustrating him. It offers none of the friction he desperately needs. Above, he can hear Hercules showering him in praise, loving and tender in the words, even as the actions are almost violent.

Then all at once, the obstruction is gone. Hercules is supported solely by the dining table, legs shaking as the pleasure rocks through him.

 

“Please can I cum, sir?” John gasps, using his boyfriend's momentary incapacitation as his opportunity. Maybe his mouth is afford him Herc's goodwill.

“Ask me again and I'll strap you down, turn that vibrator up, and watch as you scream to do anything **but** cum. _Do you hear me_?”

John can hear the dangerous tone to Herc's voice, and any other day, he might have been a brat, refusing to take Herc's word for it, pushing him into proving the truth behind his words. But today is not that day. He can't take that kind of torture. The weekend isn't _quite_ long enough for that. “Yes, sir.”

“Stand up,” and Hercules doesn't stand on ceremony, all but yanking John up by his hair. John whimpers at the force of it, sound quickly smothered by Herc's inquisitive tongue. Herc shifts his position, hands on John's hips forcing the soldier over the table. John silently rejoices, rubbing against the edge of the table for the hope of some release. He allows Herc’s hand to stray below the skirt, fingers dancing up the inside of John's thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. The anticipation is too much.

“Just fuck me!” John cries out. Whatever he had expected, his demand isn't well-received.

The hands pause in their exploration, pads of Herc's fingertips digging in, sharp nails aiding in carving crescent-shaped cuts into the flesh of John's thigh. John darts away in response to the immediate pain, inadvertently pressing himself harder against the wooden surface. A moan leaves his lips. And the pain is gone in a second. Laurens only has a chance to gasp before Herc's palm lands hot and heavy on the back of his thigh. “ _Fuck, Hercules!”_

The skin ripples under the force, red handprint quickly swelling to the surface. Hercules won't reprimand him again. He doesn't care to repeat himself more than once. John must know this by now.

But what's a little positive reinforcement?

Hercules doesn't waste time, raising his hand in an identical manner, bringing his hand down firmly in the same spot. _“Sir!”_ John cries, and it appears he has regained his manners.

“Good girl,” Hercules coos, turning his attention to his phone, turning the knob down on his phone until the screen goes black. His grip on John's hair loosens before it leaves together. “But that's enough of that, don't you think?”

“Please, Sir.” John whimpers at the loss of sensation, resting his head against the table. “I was so good for you.”

“ _Were you_?” Hercules teases, hands shifting around John's body. John pushes back, feeling the bulge of Herc's dick rubbing against his ass. He nudges it softly, trying to convey what he really wants, when Herc's fingers brush against his aching, neglected cock.

Hercules tenses, stepping away from John in a manner that can only be described as punch-drunk. He crouches low, using both his hand to grip the hem of the skirt, dragging it up with him as he stands. He flings the excess of ruffled fabric — it's truly a beautifully constructed garment — over John's back, and stares.  


“Looks like I underestimated you.” Hercules marvels, eyes bulging in wonder and shock and something else entirely.

“D-do you like them?” John asks, and for the first time, Hercules can hear uncertainty in the man's voice. The emotion is unwarranted. Herc's dick jumps at the sight of them on Laurens, his pretty boy, his babygirl, his princess.

He pinches the lace between his forefinger and thumb, humming appreciatively at the fabric in his grasp, intricate fibres running along the ridges of his fingertips. The pale blue colour is delicate enough to compliment John's skin tone, but just bright enough not to oversaturate it. John has nothing to worry about.

“Fuck, they're _perfect_.”

John hums softly. Hercules never swears during sex. The likelihood of it happening is like winning the lottery then being struck by lightning.

“It's a shame I have to take them off to fuck you.” Hercules murmurs. John nudges at Herc's dick, ever the eager one.

“We'll buy the next pair together.”

Hercules nods, unseen by John, before returning to his earlier movements, reaching around to palm John through his panties.

“ _Jeez,_ you're so wet. How long have you been aching in those panties? I shouldn't even fuck you. I should make you touch yourself with that vibe up your ass.” Hercules growls, “What do you think? Should I make you cum all over your pretty little panties, Princess?”

John moans, a heavenly sound as he grinds into Herc's hand. He's already too far gone, head too clouded with lust to make such a monumental decision. He clamps his eyes shut, thrusts forward, and feels no shame as every synapse in his brain explodes, knees weak as he cums into his boyfriend's palm.

Hercules is just as blown away. “Holy fuck, I've never seen you cum like that.”

“Th-thank you, sir.” The hand leaves John breathless, leaning into the table to prevent his collapse. His lungs empty all too quickly, and he pants in an effort to regain his breath. He gathers himself enough to regain some of his senses. “S-sorry. I didn't ask for permission.” Laurens chokes out, afterglow of his orgasm washing over him.

“We'll deal with your inability to follow instructions later.” Hercules tuts. But the admonishment is without bite, quickly followed by an adoring stroke of John's hair. “All for now, get on your knees.”

The flames of desire behind John's eyes reignite, and he sinks to the floor without hesitation.

“Anything for you, sir.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments feed my need for validation


End file.
